Page 72 - Good people all of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wond'rous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

Page 28 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side: But in his duty, prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Page 45 - The wretch condemn'd with life to part Still, still on hope relies ; And every pang that rends the heart Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the glimmering taper's light, Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.

Page 64 - Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word — From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass'd her door, And always found her kind ; She freely lent to all the poor — Who left a pledge behind.

Page 29 - For, e'en though vanquished, he could argue still, While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.